#there are so many details on everything!!

[mayakern]

Things are bad right now.

As many of you know, way back in 2020 we weren’t sure if our business was gonna make it. Our factory was already on break for Lunar New Year–a month-long holiday for many businesses in the area–and with the announcement of COVID19, everything shut down indefinitely. We knew immediately we were in for a bad time. Despite our fears, our sales grew so far beyond anything we ever expected, to the point where we had to hire two employees just to keep up with demand! 

Unfortunately, even after our factory reopened, our problems were not over. Their quality drastically declined almost immediately, to the point that a significant amount of our  fabric would literally fall apart in transit between the factory and our office. Because of this, we discovered that our sales rep had no idea what she was doing and knew nothing about the factory she was representing, so when we told her the fabric was garbage her response was “👍 factory said it’s good!” At the beginning, only roughly 10% of our new product was defective and we were able to sell the affected items with a reasonable discount. By the end of our relationship with that factory, 40% of our midi skirts and 70% of our miniskirts were defective, some affected so severely that they practically fell apart when touched. And still, our rep said everything was fine and there were no problems and the fabric composition had not changed.

So in 2022 we changed factories. We hired Ash to handle this since I was way too busy managing fulfillment to do the amount of research and communication necessary to find us a factory that met our criteria. Finding clothing factories that can make clothing over a size 2-3X is significantly more difficult than one that can’t because it often requires larger and more expensive machinery. But Ash did it: she got us set up with a new factory that has excellent certifications for both their labor practices and their methods for textile production, that delivers consistent, high quality sewing on well made fabric that can be printed without suffering loss in detail–and she was armored with the knowledge for what makes a quality garment so she could check them if they tried to screw us on quality. Their minimum orders were way higher than our previous factory’s, so we decided to focus on ordering more units of fewer designs. We ordered way too much our first round–some of those designs were in stock until the 2024 blowout sale! But it worked out, and slowly we had a warehouse full of stuff to sell.

Fast forward to 2024, business is slowing down between the economy being bad and what seemed to be a general skirt fatigue amongst our customers. We tried expanding into shirts, which would’ve been successful if our minimums were lower. In the late spring we realized we were in trouble if we didn’t make drastic changes and we ultimately decided to end in-house fulfillment and transfer to a third party fulfillment center that would support domestic shipping in Canada and eventually the UK, EU, and Australia. In order to make that transition affordable we drastically discounted everything and that sale was super successful! We were able to begin shipping from the fulfillment center with an almost clean slate, even if it did mean having to close the store for almost two months and thereby missing out on two very important months of sales.

Unfortunately, we were stupid. We continued to order new designs on an every other month schedule instead of switching to an every month schedule, forgetting that having a backstock in a variety of designs is what previously helped us float between orders and now we quite literally didn’t have enough inventory to match the sales we made for last year’s holiday sale.

That brings us to now.

We’re a little stuck. We have a round of skirts in production (yay!) but they won’t get here until February (boo!). To get back on that monthly cycle we would need to order the next round of skirts right now, but we can’t pay for production until that next round of skirts gets here; if the current sale goes well, it’s paying payroll, not production. We are currently in the very difficult, horrible situation of not having enough money for next month’s payroll unless we are somehow able to make significant sales with our very sparse inventory.

We’re scrappy and we do our best to adapt to disasters and I’m sure we’ll find a way to adapt to this one as well, it’ll just take us some time to get there. Basically we’re going to be okay eventually–hopefully later this year–but in the meantime if we seem frantic, now you know why. 

If you’re been considering trying out our viscose shirts but haven’t been able to justify paying full price, they’re on clearance PLUS half off right now! That’s $9-$15 for the viscose tops, and other tops on clearance are $20-$45. Some of the shirts we’re having a LOT of trouble selling are now priced below cost to help us recoup some of the money we spent making them.

Any amount of support helps right now. Sharing posts, telling your friends, buying a $9 shirt–all of it helps. If our clothing isn’t your thing, we also have a Patreon you can support for as little as $1 a month. https://www.patreon.com/mayakern

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day and that 2025 is a brighter, kinder year for us all.

[motsimages]

I love this in Spanish too, there are lots of idioms, sayings and proverbs related to the textile work as well.

Very often you hear that someone is hilando fino, to mean that they are connecting ideas with care and detail (particularly for puns or other witty comments). Very rarely does someone think that this "hilar" is related to fabric work in any way (spin).

And don't you know that unos cardan la lana, y otros tienen la fama? Some do the hard work but it's the famous people who market it and are the face of it who show for it. Or as I recently learnt in a traditional wool work workshop (so many wo-): because people would congratulate the spinner on her very good thread, ignoring the work the carder had put so that it was easy to spin.

Even things related to sewing get lost in the metaphor and the everyday use when someone is not only fast to speak but also able to really connect their ideas to the way they express them, the way they paln everything they do so that you know the work behind it. No da puntada sin hilo, we say to show we noticed.

I guess we could stay here all day, pegando la hebra, and connecting one topic to another the same way you connect a thread that broke.

One of my favorite things about learning about traditional textiles is the little ghosts they left in the language. Of course the ghosts are there, now that I know to look for them. Once upon a time, half the population spent a majority of their day making textiles. Spinning, at the very least, has been a part of humanity since the Neanderthals. That kind of knowledge doesn't just disappear.

A heckle was a device with sharp metal spikes, and people drag flax through the spikes to separate out the fibers from the chaff. When you say someone heckled a performer, you think you are being literal but you're speaking in an ancient metaphor.

When my grandpa says "spinning yarns" to mean telling stories, he knows that one's not quite literal, but its vividness is lost to him. There is no image in his mind of rhythm, muscle memory, and the subtle twist that aligns clouds of fibers into a single, strong cord.

When a fanfic writer describes someone carding their fingers through someone's hair, that's the most discordant in my mind. Carding is rough, and quick, and sometimes messy (my wool is full of debris, even after lots of washing). The teeth of my cards are densely packed and scratchy. But maybe that's my error, not the writer's. Before cards were invented, wool was combed with wide-toothed combs, and sometimes, in point of fact, with fingers. The verb "to card" (from Middle English) may actually be older than the tools I use, archaic as they are. And I say may, because I can't find a definitive history. People forget, even when the language remembers.

[dear-ao3]

by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

[thewizardingpost]

Drowned in Desire 

poly!marauders x fem!reader

note ⌇ you’re ovulating and your boyfriends are looking a little too good  warnings ⌇word count 2.1k, smut, established relationship, foursome, breif exhibition (sex in a closet w/ Sirus), oral sex, (v) penetration sex, reader is FIENING, slytherin!reader (only suggested in beginning), many rounds throughout the day, making out, wrap it before you tap it, degrading talk (slut), praise as well, dom/sub dynamics?, not proofread

Desire is a current you can’t swim against, and this morning, it pulls you under.

You wake in the quiet shadows of your Slytherin dorm room, the dim greenish light filtering through the heavy curtains, casting everything in a soft, muted glow. The bed is warm around you, but the air is cool, the stone walls solid and unyielding. The usual comfort of your surroundings does nothing to quell the feeling rising within you—this heat, this restless yearning that spreads through your veins, igniting something deep inside.

Before your eyes even open, before your mind has fully shaken off the remnants of sleep, you feel it. The pull. Desire, like a tide, rises and falls inside you, a constant undercurrent that tugs at the edges of your thoughts. It’s like a magnetic force, drawing you into it, unrelenting, impossible to ignore. Your body reacts before your mind does—there’s a knot in your stomach, a fluttering pulse in your chest. It’s the kind of ache that’s both comforting and foreign, like something you’ve always known but never dared to name.

The bed creaks slightly as you shift, but the feeling is all around you, wrapping itself in the space between your sheets and the cold stone beneath you. It’s an insistent ache, a longing that wraps itself around your heart and doesn’t let go. You try to ignore it, to push it down, but it only grows stronger, more undeniable, until it’s all you can think about. The weight presses against your chest, suffocating in its intensity, like an unspoken truth you’ve been trying to deny.

You know it’s them. You know it’s James, with that reckless smile, the confidence that makes him feel untouchable. You know it’s Remus, with that quiet, knowing gaze, always watching, always seeming to see more than anyone else. And Sirius—Sirius, with his defiant grin, his energy that fills the room, the way his voice lingers in your thoughts long after he’s gone.

It’s not just an attraction. It’s more. Something deeper, more dangerous. Something that catches you when you least expect it, stirs when you’re alone, when you’re quiet, when there’s nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat in the stillness of the morning. You try to push it down, try to keep it contained, but the ache only grows. And in the stillness of your Slytherin dorm, where no one can see you, where the world outside feels so far away, the desire becomes almost unbearable.

You close your eyes, trying to breathe through it, but you know it’s pointless. It’s there. Always there. Like the pull of the Black Lake, drawing you deeper, making you feel weightless and alive, but caught in the undertow. Today, it pulls you under again, and you can’t escape it.

When you were around them that morning, that was when you observed, noticed more. The world seemed to shift, as if everything around you was suddenly clearer, more vivid. You saw them in a different light, through a new lens, one that made the smallest details feel significant, even electric. James’ hands, so effortlessly confident as they gripped his broomstick, or the way his fingers brushed through his messy hair. It made you ache in a way you couldn’t explain, the subtle strength in those movements, the careless elegance he didn’t even know he possessed. 

Then there was Remus. The way his neck flexed when he turned toward you, the subtle movement as he shifted or spoke—it was like everything else faded, and all you could focus on was the delicate line of his throat, the quiet strength in it. You couldn’t help but trace the curve of it in your mind, feeling your pulse quicken with a desire you couldn’t explain. Every movement, every tilt of his head, left you breathless, as though the very air was thickening with something unspoken. You had a desire to leave a darkened remnant of said desire on his skin there, make it obvious for others to notice. 

And Sirius—his morning voice, lower and richer, still thick with sleep. There was something about the deep rumble of it, the way it held a quiet power, that made you wish he’d speak to you in that tone, right in your ear, letting the warmth of his voice settle close to you. 

Of course, it wasn’t surprising that they noticed. It was hard for them not to, especially when the air around you felt heavier, charged in a way you couldn’t hide. Your gaze, a little too intense, lingered where it shouldn’t, catching their attention in ways you weren’t sure you wanted. It wasn’t just the way your eyes followed them—it was the weight behind it, the way you couldn’t quite look away, even when you knew you should. The silence between you and them stretched a little too long, and every glance you threw felt like an unspoken invitation, even if you didn’t mean for it to be. They had to have known.

It all started in class. Remus was sitting beside you, his presence almost too close, and the professor’s voice barely registered as you became aware of the tension that had begun to stir. Then you felt it—his breath, warm against your ear, as he leaned in. He seemed to notice your focus on something you shouldn't be focusing on during class. 

“Careful, you’re staring,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, with that signature smirk you couldn’t see but could feel in his words.

Your chest tightened, a knot of heat curling in your stomach. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, your focus forced to stay at the front of the room. But the words, his breath, the proximity—it all pressed against you, making the air feel thick and suffocating. You tried to ignore it, but the feeling lingered, a quiet pulse beneath your skin.

Usually, you shove him and move on from his teasing. That’s usually what happened when he teased you, but today–you ran with it, and who was he to turn you down. 

After class had ended the both of you were shoved inside a tight and dark room. A hand was twisted in his tie, tugging him in to press his lips to yours. His hair became a bird's mess with how you had weaved them in, tugging on the locks each time he bit down on your bottom lip. You’re both gasping against each other’s lips, bodies firmly pressed together–squirming. 

“Remus, love,” you gasp, nothing but a needy whisper, “please. Please, do something. Need you.”

With a curse under his breath he was moving you so your back pressed against the cold wall. A leg was hiked up on his shoulder, opening you up so he can press himself under your skirt to smother himself against your throbbing core. With the way you were practically leaking onto his face, it didn’t take but maybe five minutes and your thighs are shaking around his face–legs becoming akin to rubber. You walked out of that closet feeling as if nothing had happened, the need in you still firing off as if you hadn’t just orgasmed a minute ago. 

It just worsens from there, the moment in the closet opening a floodgate.

Before James' Quidditch practice, you sit on his bed, watching as he stands in front of the mirror, pulling his shirt off to change. For a second in time, you catch a glimpse of his back, the sunlight catching every ridge and divot of muscle. On impulse, you reach your hand out, brushing against the vast expanse of skin there. He glances back over his shoulder, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Got your attention?"

Similar to Sirius, you grabbed a hold of his jersey and tugged him down to connect your lips together. He ended up late to practice. The way you were licking a stripe up the side of his length drove him insane, whiny sounds escaping him as you sink his length further past your lips.The way he arrives at practice—paint on his clothes, hair a mess, sweat glistening on his skin—makes it look like he’s just finished. It’s just the effect you have on him.

Yet again, it didn’t seem to cure your heat-like state. If anything, it worsened it. 

With James at practice and Remus in another class–Sirius was left. You found him in the library. A smirk graced his lips when he noticed you, setting his book down beside him. Getting him on board was easy. Just a whisper in his ear and a little hand weaving in his black hair was enough. He pushed you back against the bed, taking off his top before crawling on top. 

The way you were grinding your hips in tandem, heavy moans mixing together–it sent a dizzying swirl through your mind. His lips drag down your throat as he works your uniform open, showing your bare self to him. 

“Slut,” he comments when he sees how blissed out you look, his hand between your shiny thighs. “So sensitive and I’ve not done anything yet.”

You nod, another choked gasp escapes you when his thumb presses against your clit–another pushing in. He holds back a moan when he feels how tight you grip him, how warm you are. He moves his fingers in and out fast, turned on by your expressions and the dirty sounds coming from where his fingers and your cunt intertwine. 

“Siri, Sirius please,” you beg, nails digging into the back of his neck. “Please!”

He moves fast, removing the rest of your clothing with a smirk on his face. Flipping you onto your stomach, he pulls your hips back to meet where he stands at the edge of the bed. When more than a minute slides by, the impatient whine you let out is pathetic. Sirius laughs breathlessly, patting your ass that’s saying back and forth as to entice him, “shh, I know. Give me a second, love.” 

Your eyes flutter shut when he does begin to push in, each inch pulling you further and further into this floaty, desperate headspace. Your hands grip the bed sheets, trying to stabilize yourself when he begins to set a pace. Each time he pushes back in, it pulls another whimper from your lips. You repeat his name, random pleas until it all becomes incoherent babbles–just desperate in making sure he doesn’t stop. That’s how you came the second time that day, squeezing around his length and bringing him to his orgasm as well. 

He pulls himself out and you protest, reaching a hand back to pull him back. He grins, “so damn needy. You can’t have that, but you can have my fingers.”

It’s enough for the time being, up until the other two guys return–walking in on you under Sirius in the sheets. His fingers pumping in and out of you, pulling such heavenly sounds from you. Remus shuts the door behind him quickly, not wishing to share such a view with anyone else who might walk by any second. 

James walks to the bed first, sitting down and watching the entire moment. How tight you’re gripping the sheets, how focused you look, the way you are circling your hips around his fingers. Sirius grins, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “need more, mm?”

Seeing how you nod, he continues, “I believe James and Remus wanna help you, okay gorgeous? I’m gonna take my fingers out.”

He knew you would, but he still grinned all the more when you whined in protest. 

Three more times you came. Five in total that day. Once on Remus, couldn't help yourself with how you sat on top of him–slamming your hips down on his length. Another with James. Again, how couldn’t you help yourself when he fucked you so good, so deep–body hovering over yours. The last time was from a moment of full stimulation. Siri pushed between your lips, Remus and James sharing your cunt. They had pushed you not to come, playfully trying to see if you could hold out. It was so incredibly difficult, but somehow you pushed through. The last time you came was when you were gripping Remus’ length again, moaning around Sirius. 

You looked wrecked. Your eyes are glossy and far-off, a thin layer of sweat around your body–glistening. 

Remus hums, thumb rubbing your hip, “lovely, we can stop, you–”

You pull off of Sirius, eyes slightly wide, “no!”

It was going to be a long night.

[pyxxiestyxx]

Truth and Rumors

You didn't exactly plan on being your space station's liaison to the Affini Compact, but everyone in leadership had fled into the darkness of space hours before the plant's first ships jumped into position. Clearly someone had tipped the C-Suite off somehow; honestly, you couldn't blame them. Everything you had heard about the Compact was…rather terrifying, really. Behemoth plants with rows upon rows of teeth, infectious parasites ready to take over your mind, eternal servitude and endless labor with no pay…you shuddered at the rumors, at the stories. Perhaps worse was the actual propaganda produced by the plants; not that you or anyone else on the station was legally allowed to watch it, but even the few still frames that were shown to you had painted a grisly picture. The limp figure of some Terran Navy hero, cuddled and coddled by the hulking beast of a plant behind her. Apparently they had changed the soldier's gender, or something? The report accompanying the image was rather unclear for that particular detail. And now, here you were: sitting nervously in the largest conference room on the station, the lone Terran at a desk made for over thirty to sit at comfortably. When the Compact had hailed your station, you were one of the few working the comms station, and everyone else had either fainted, screamed, or panicked. Not that you were much better, but it was apparently enough that you were voluntold to answer it. The voice of the caller was…strange. Different, somehow. Calming, and yet thrilling. She introduced herself as Lady Violetta Larella, Fourteenth Bloom, she/her. Blushing, you apologized for not referring to her by her title earlier. In your defense, you hadn't realized she was nobility. She seemed to enjoy that, for some reason. You had only been sitting at the table for a few minutes when there was a sharp knock at the door. The Lady entered as gracefully as one possibly could when entering a door made for someone at least five feet shorter, her long dress trailing behind her as she clasped her hands and smiled. "Hello, darling. It's so lovely to see you in the flesh, so to speak! And just look at you! Why, that video feed certainly dulled your charms~" Her voice was dripping with genuine affection as she stepped over to you, taking a knee and reaching an elegant hand out to tussle your hair. You couldn't help but shudder as she did so; your nerves dancing in abject joy as she gently pet your head. Your eyes slowly closed in utter delight as you sagged back into your chair, your tensed muscles relaxing one by one by one... "Oh, but I apologize! Playtime can come later, dear. Let's get down to business, shall we?" You blinked in confusion as you realized She had stopped petting you, and couldn't stop yourself from letting out the smallest of whimpers as She began to withdraw Her hand. Every single one of Her eyes, each of which ranked among some of the most verdant jewels you had ever seen, quickly seemed to shift and dance to a brilliant violet. Her hand returned, sending your worries scuttling for the door as She did so. "Well…perhaps we can take a few minutes, first. Just to make sure you have been thoroughly examined, of course; it would be my duty as Own…as Overseer of this operation to guarantee your mental and physical wellbeing~" You smiled dreamily as you were picked up and held by Lady Violetta, happy that everything you had heard about the Affini was so clearly wrong. She grinned at you, a wide smile that showed all Her many, many pretty teeth, and held up a single, succulent berry, the sight of which made your mouth water. "Now then…let's play a fun little game. When I stroke downward on your cheek, I want you to open your mouth…"

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

sorry if you feel objectified - spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

reader spills to the ladies of the bau... which is fine until spencer hears

requested by: @floraisunwell

genre: fluff (vv silly) wc: 405 warnings: established relationship, mentioned sex, awkwardness, teasing, talk of objectification

Maybe it was a tad inappropriate to be discussing last night's escapades with your boyfriend—and coworker—at work but was it really that surprising? I mean, the team only just find out about you two and you don't have many friends here in DC. It's not like the ladies of the BAU were going to let you skimp on the details, anyways.

So, you tell them everything.

"He did what?!" Penelope screeches. You have to hold a finger to her lips to remind her that you're in the kitchenette and not behind closed doors.

Holding back far too loud giggles, you whisper-yell, "shut up!" After a moment of waiting for her to calm down, you continue the story, "over the couch..."

Emily's mouth opens before she asks quietly, baffled, "over? Like...?"

"I'm not describing our sex positions!" you giggle. Then, with feigned nonchalance, you add, "he looked good doing it, though." And, of course, that's the moment Spencer walks into the BAU with a confused, furrowed brow and red everything. A not-so-amusing, mumbled, "busted," comes from JJ.

Holding up her mug as an act of congratulation, Emily grins, "we've heard great things."

If it's even possible, his face gets even more red. You can only imagine the things he's picturing in his head right now. "W—What have you heard?"

"Nothing! Uh, they heard nothing. Coffee?" you suggest nervously.

You couldn't possibly be even a little shocked that Penelope had told Morgan. Unfortunately for Spencer, that means he's now a victim of his teasing.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Morgan smiles, "how do you feel about being objectified the person you're sleeping with?"

"It's not objectifying," Spencer mutters boredly, pressing a key on his computer's keyboard.

As if he already knew what he was going to say, Morgan hums before responding with, "I don't know, some of the things she said seemed pretty... explicit."

At that, he flushes, most likely recalling last night perfectly, thanks to his eidetic memory. That's when you butt in, not having it with the conversation. "Morgan," you warn.

His hands fly up in surrender and you glare at him. "Clearly you've never heard girl-talk before because that was nothing," you smile innocently. Morgan's eyebrows raise as he backs away towards his desk.

Spencer pops his head up and looks at you over the divider between your desks, brows furrowed and lips parted in confusion. Probably mortification, too.

"That conversation was nothing?"

[cherryxbooo]

Nothing lasts forever

Summary: Being a dedicated McLaren engineer with a cold demeanor means one thing: judgment. Trusting and opening up to a certain driver leads to a bigger mistake.

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: Angst

I had always dreamed of working for McLaren.

The team’s history, the legacy, the championships, everything about it had captivated me since I was a kid.

I’d spent years idolizing the drivers, the engineers, the people who made it all happen.

And then, there I was.

Standing in the paddock, a part of the machine I had once only watched from the sidelines.

The air felt thick with history, with success, with the roar of engines and the buzz of anticipation.

It was everything I had ever wanted.

But, as much as I tried to convince myself it was everything I had dreamed of, there was something that gnawed at me.

There was an ache deep in my chest that no amount of triumph could soothe.

I had arrived, but the reality? The reality was a constant weight on my shoulders that I wasn’t prepared for.

I’d imagined walking into the garage, feeling the excitement of the team, and being welcomed as one of their own.

But instead, there were whispers.

Quiet, cutting whispers that followed me like a shadow.

I could feel the eyes on my back, the scrutiny, the judgment.

It didn’t matter how many hours I put in, how many sacrifices I made.

The rumors about me spread faster than the engine roar on the track.

I wasn’t the “right” kind of person.

Too focused, too ambitious, too cold.

Too much of everything that didn’t fit their ideal.

And it stung.

Every word. Every glance. Every offhand comment.

I tried to tell myself to ignore it. That they were wrong, that I had a place here because I earned it.

But each passing day, each race weekend, it felt harder to believe that.

The weight of their expectations, their judgments, it was like suffocating under a blanket of misunderstanding.

The worst part was when the comments came from the people I thought I could trust.

From the people I worked alongside. The people I shared ideas with.

How many times had I stayed late, just to make sure everything was perfect? Just to be sure I was giving it my all?

And yet, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

The world outside the track didn’t care about my dedication.

They cared about who I was, who they thought I was, and who I wasn’t.

It felt like every tiny detail of my life was scrutinized, dissected, and criticized.

So, I built walls.

Higher and higher, until they were towering around me. I kept my head down, kept my focus laser-sharp, kept to myself.

No one was going to see the cracks forming inside.

No one would ever know how often I lay awake at night, replaying everything, questioning my worth, wondering if all those whispers were true.

Was I too cold? Too intense? Too much of something that no one could accept?

Could they see me as I truly was, or was I just a puzzle piece that didn’t fit the picture they had in mind?

Then came Oscar.

The new guy, the fresh-faced rookie with that infectious energy.

He had that spark of hope, that belief in things I had lost along the way. He didn’t see the walls I built.

He didn’t seem to care about the rumors. To him, I was just another teammate. Another person to work with.

He didn’t judge me for how I carried myself, didn’t dismiss me for my focus. Instead, he laughed with me.

He challenged me in the best ways, without making me feel like an outsider.

For a while, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was someone who didn’t see me through that lens of judgment.

Someone who saw me.

Oscar didn’t care about my reputation or the harsh words spoken behind my back.

He saw the work, the effort. And for the first time in a long time, I felt... like I mattered.

We started talking more.

Late-night debriefs, sitting alone after everyone else had gone to bed, dissecting the race, talking about what went wrong and what we could have done better.

I listened to him, really listened.

He told me about his journey to Formula 1, about his struggles to prove himself, about his dreams.

And in turn, I opened up. I shared my frustrations. My doubts. I talked about the battles I fought every day just to be here, just to be seen.

I never expected him to understand, but he did.

He didn’t judge.

He listened.

One night, after a particularly brutal race weekend, we found ourselves alone in the garage.

The others had already left for their rooms, and the garage was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the equipment.

I was staring at the car, my mind a whirlwind of calculations and what-ifs.

Oscar walked up to me, leaning against the tool chest, arms crossed, his usual easy smile softened.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

I didn’t turn to him immediately.

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“I just... I just can’t stop thinking about what went wrong. There were so many little things that could’ve been fixed. If I had just—”

“Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not harsh.

“You’re one of the best at what you do. Don’t let one bad weekend define you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Easier said than done, right?”

He chuckled softly, pushing himself off the tool chest and walking closer to me.

“I get it. But you can’t carry that weight on your own. You’ve got a team here. Me included.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me harder than I expected.

I finally looked up at him, and for the first time, I saw not just the rookie but someone who genuinely cared.

Someone who wanted to help. It was almost too much to take in.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he added quietly, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me away.

I swallowed hard, feeling something stir inside me, something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

Hope.

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. “I... I know. It’s just hard.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes softening.

“But you don’t have to have all the answers, all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to lean on others.”

His voice lowered.

“Especially if that means leaning on me.”

I felt a warmth bloom in my chest, a sensation I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in so long.

Maybe it was okay to let someone in.

Maybe Oscar was the one person who could help me see things differently.

The next few days were full of more small moments that made my walls tremble.

We found ourselves in those quiet spaces between races, just talking.

I’d laugh at his dry humor, and he’d listen as I explained things I thought only made sense in my head.

He didn’t rush me. He didn’t expect anything from me except honesty.

One evening, as we sat on the pit wall, watching the sunset after another long practice session, he nudged me gently with his shoulder.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the ice queen,” he said with a teasing grin,

“you’re actually kind of fun to hang out with.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

He raised an eyebrow, pretending to think it over.

“Maybe just a little. But that’s what makes it fun.” He nudged me again, this time making me laugh out loud.

It was a soft, genuine moment.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel it, really feel it.

The connection we were building was something I didn’t expect, something that was slowly chipping away at the walls I had so carefully crafted.

Oscar was breaking through, piece by piece. And it scared me. But in the best way possible.

But nothing lasts forever right?

The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, amber-hued shadows over the paddock.

The air was still cool, with a slight breeze stirring the flags and team banners fluttering gently in the wind.

The hum of the pit lane was just starting to pick up as teams were making their final preparations for the day’s race.

Oscar and Lando stood by the car, both immersed in the quiet but urgent task of fine-tuning the machine that would carry them into the competition.

Oscar, his focus unwavering, leaned over the rear wing, adjusting a setting on the aerodynamics.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, checking measurements, recalibrating.

He didn’t take his eyes off the components as he made the final tweaks.

The team relied on him to deliver his best performance, and he wouldn’t let them down.

Lando, on the other hand, leaned casually against the car, arms crossed, watching Oscar work.

There was an easy-going air about him, a stark contrast to the intensity radiating from Oscar.

Lando's eyes followed his teammate’s every move with a small, amused smile on his lips.

It wasn’t that Lando wasn’t focused; it was just that he had a different way of working, more laid back, like everything was under control even if it wasn’t.

After a few moments of silence, Lando spoke, breaking the quiet concentration.

“I have to admit,” he said, his tone light but thoughtful, “Y/n’s not as bad as I thought.”

Oscar glanced up from his task, a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah? I’ve noticed that too. She’s... unique.”

Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully with his elbow.

“Unique, huh? You mean cold and distant?”

he teased, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

Oscar’s expression softened, and he straightened up from the car, wiping his hands on his overalls as he met Lando’s eyes.

His smile faltered for a second, but only for a moment.

“She��s not cold,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious.

“She’s just... guarded. And I think once you get to know her, you’ll see a different side.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, and took a step toward him, crossing his arms as he leaned in slightly.

“Really? You’ve spent a lot of time with her, huh? I didn’t think you’d put up with her cold demeanor. I mean, how do you even manage it? She’s like a brick wall sometimes.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened on the tools he was holding, but he didn’t let the tension show on his face.

He took a breath before speaking. “It’s not like that. She’s actually very sweet once you get past the walls she’s built.”

His voice softened, as if speaking about something fragile.

“There’s more to her than people realize. People don’t take the time to see that.”

Lando frowned, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Oscar, clearly unconvinced.

“Sweet? Dude, you’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know if I’m buying that. I mean, have you seen how she reacts to people? Most of the time, it’s like she’s trying to push everyone away. She doesn't smile, doesn't really talk unless she has to.”

Oscar hesitated, the flicker of unease in his chest threatening to break through, but he pushed it down.

He didn’t want to let Lando’s skepticism affect his thoughts about Y/n.

He could feel something real there, something that couldn’t be captured by just looking at the surface.

“I think you’re wrong,” Oscar said, his voice firm, though the unease lingered at the edge of his words.

“She’s just... been through a lot. I can see it in her eyes. She’s been hurt before, but she’s not who people think she is. She just needs someone to understand her.”

Lando’s face darkened slightly, his expression hardening as he stepped closer, his voice lowering to a more serious tone.

“You’re really going to let her fool you, huh? What if she’s just using you, Oscar? What if she’s trying to win you over for something, like fame, or to get information out of you? People like her, they’re good at manipulating others. They know how to get what they want, and you might just be her latest target.”

Oscar’s pulse quickened at Lando’s words. His grip on the tools tightened until his knuckles went white.

His initial instinct was to push back, to tell Lando that he didn’t know Y/n like he did, but the words hit a little too close to home.

He tried to control the rising heat in his chest, not wanting to let it spill over.

“No,” Oscar finally said, his voice quieter, though the defensive edge was still there.

“I don’t believe that. She’s not like that. You don’t know her the way I do.”

Lando’s gaze shifted, his brow furrowing as he leaned in closer, his tone shifting to something more insistent, more urgent.

“Come on, man. I’m just looking out for you. You’re still new here. She’s smart, and she’s got a way of getting people to like her, but it’s all for a reason. Maybe she’s just trying to get close to you for some advantage. I’m just trying to warn you before you get too deep in. You should keep an eye on her.”

Oscar felt a tightening in his chest, a flicker of doubt threatening to cloud his judgment.

He wanted to trust Y/n, to believe that the connection they had was real, but Lando’s words were like a seed planted in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t ignore.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling.

“I don’t think I need to be worried about her,” Oscar replied, his voice firming again, though his hands were still clenched.

“She’s been nothing but professional with me, and I trust her. I’m not going to let something like this ruin that.”

Lando sighed, his posture relaxing just a fraction, though his concern was still evident.

“I hope you’re right, mate,” he said, his voice quiet but serious.

“Just keep your eyes open. You might be seeing things through rose-colored glasses right now, but trust me, people like her don’t change easily. Don’t let yourself get hurt.”

Before Oscar could respond, the team was called for practice, the urgency of the situation pushing the conversation aside.

Both drivers were pulled into the whirlwind of final checks and preparations for the race.

But even as they walked toward the garage, Oscar couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Lando’s words had left behind.

He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but the doubt lingered, simmering beneath the surface.

He caught a glimpse of Y/n as they made their way to their cars, and for a moment, he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, Lando was right.

Could she really be hiding something?

Or was it just the fear of getting too close to someone who had built walls around herself for so long?

Oscar didn’t know, but what he did know was that he wanted to figure it out, he couldn’t just dismiss her like that.

He took a deep breath and forced the thought away.

The race was about to begin, and there was no room for distractions now.

But as they took their positions for practice, Oscar couldn’t shake the lingering doubt that now danced at the edge of his mind.

Later that afternoon,

after the chaos of the post-race debrief, I was given a simple task, one that I had done countless times before.

I was asked to grab some papers from the drivers’ room that had been left behind after a last-minute meeting with Oscar.

It's an easy. Simple. Routine. Right?

I pushed the door open to the driver's room, the quiet atmosphere inside making me feel alone for some reason.

I started sifting through the papers on the desk, the disarray mirroring the mess in my head.

Coffee cups, race schedules, notes from the meeting, all scattered in a haphazard way.

Then, my hand brushed against something, and before I could react, I heard the unmistakable sound of a phone hitting the floor.

A loud thud.

I froze.

Oscar’s phone.

My heart skipped a beat as I bent down quickly, my fingers shaking slightly as I scooped it up.

I checked it over anxiously, my mind racing.

It seemed fine, no cracks, no shattered screen. Just a small scratch on the corner, nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief and, for a split second, considered just leaving it there on the desk.

Maybe pretending it hadn’t happened would be easier than facing him.

But before I could even make the decision, the door swung open.

Oscar stood in the doorway, his gaze immediately locking onto the phone in my hand.

His eyes flicked from the phone to my face, his expression shifting in rapid succession, surprise, confusion, and then something darker, something colder that made my stomach churn.

“What are you doing with my phone?”

His voice was tight, almost accusing.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

“I—I'm sorry, I knocked it over, and I was just checking to see if it was okay.”

His eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they hardened.

His jaw clenched as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt like the final barrier between us.

“Why were you going through it?”

His words cut through the air like a knife, and I could feel my pulse racing in my ears.

“I wasn’t going through it,” I quickly explained, trying to remain calm despite the panic rising in my chest.

“I swear, Oscar. I wasn’t—”

But he wasn’t listening. He cut me off, his voice rising with frustration.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“Lando was right, wasn’t he? You’re just trying to get something out of me. Trying to manipulate me.”

I stood frozen, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My head spun as I tried to process what he was saying.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Oscar’s gaze was cold, distant, like a stranger’s.

He took a step closer, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I know what Lando said,” he spat, his words laced with frustration.

“You’re trying to win me over, aren’t you? Maybe you just want to get close to me for some advantage, information, fame, whatever.”

Each word stung like a slap. I felt my chest tighten, the weight of the accusations suffocating me.

I had spent so long building trust with Oscar, trying to make him see the real me beneath the walls I had built.

But now, it was as if all that effort had meant nothing.

“Oscar, I don’t know what he’s told you, but I swear, that’s not it. You have to believe me,”

I pleaded, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

But his gaze hardened further, like an impenetrable wall had been built between us.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Y/n. I thought I understood you. But now… I don’t know.”

The words cut deeper than anything he had said before. I felt them settle in my chest like a heavy stone, each one sinking further into the pit of my heart.

The silence that followed felt unbearable. Neither of us moved, the air thick with unspoken words and hurt.

Finally, Oscar broke the silence with a sharp exhale, his frustration palpable.

“I don’t want to argue with you right now.”

And just like that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him with a finality that echoed in my chest.

The sound of the door closing felt like the door between us had been shut permanently.

I stood there for a long moment, frozen in place.

My mind raced, but the only thing that kept repeating in my head was how completely shattered I felt.

It wasn’t just the argument, or the mistrust, it was the way everything I had worked for, everything I had built with Oscar, had just come crumbling down in an instant.

And for the first time in a long time, I was completely alone.

Hours had passed since the argument, and the weight of it sat heavily on my chest.

The tension between Oscar and me still lingered in the air, suffocating and sharp.

I had kept to myself in the aftermath, buried in data and numbers, trying to escape the clamor of my own thoughts.

I needed the distraction, anything to keep my mind from spiraling further into the uncertainty of everything that had unfolded between us.

But as I walked down the narrow hallway, heading toward the garage, I heard the familiar voices of Lando and Oscar in the distance.

Their voices cut through the stillness of the hallway, and without meaning to, I found myself slowing down, drawn to the conversation like a moth to a flame.

I tried to stay calm, but something in my gut told me I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.

“…She’s just so cold,”

Lando’s voice was low but carried a certain finality, like he was trying to convince Oscar of something he already believed.

“I’ve tried to get close to her, man, but it’s like she doesn’t even care. She’s got this wall up that I can’t get through. It’s exhausting and childish.”

Oscar’s response was quieter, but still audible.

There was a hesitation in his voice that I hadn’t expected. “She's cold... but I guess that's just how she is”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, the pressure of the situation suddenly too much to bear.

I thought, no, hoped, that Oscar might defend me, at least show some understanding of who I really was, what I had been through.

But instead, it was like he was agreeing with Lando.

And with every second that passed, the pain inside me deepened, unbearable and raw.

Lando’s voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time.

“Whatever, man. Just keep an eye on her, alright? I’m telling you, she’s got her own agenda. You can’t trust someone like that. She’s been playing everyone, and I’m sure you’re next.”

I stood frozen in place, my heart sinking.

Oscar was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the crackle of tension in the air, even from where I stood.

Was he really considering what Lando said? Was he starting to doubt me too?

Finally, Oscar spoke, his voice quieter than before, but there was an edge to it now, like something had shifted inside of him.

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her. She seems suspicious and untrustworthy.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

My stomach twisted painfully, and it was like all the air had been sucked from my lungs.

That was it. He didn’t defend me. He didn’t trust me.

He was agreeing with Lando’s words, buying into the idea that I was some sort of threat, someone who couldn’t be trusted.

The space between us that had once felt so close now seemed impossibly vast, like an insurmountable chasm had opened up between us.

I felt the sting of betrayal rush through me, even though I tried to swallow it down.

My mind raced. How could he believe that? How could he think that of me, after everything we had shared, the small moments of connection?

It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t like me to be the one who couldn’t be trusted, but here I was, questioning everything.

Turning on my heel, I quickly walked away, the sound of their voices echoing behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to face them.

I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall.

Not now. Not when it felt like I had already lost everything.

As I made my way back through the hall, my stomach twisted with a kind of emptiness I couldn’t describe.

That was it. Oscar had chosen Lando’s side without hesitation. And that hurt more than anything.

The realization settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely alone in a place I thought I had found some semblance of belonging.

I had hoped for more from Oscar, but now, I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

What had we even shared if it could be so easily dismissed by someone who barely knew me?

Later that evening,

I found myself walking toward the tech area, my mind still reeling from the aftermath of everything.

The weight of the argument earlier that day had left me hollow, like a piece of me had been torn away and I couldn’t find the strength to patch it back together.

I wanted to drown out the pain, to lose myself in the data, in the work that always kept me busy.

But then, as I rounded the corner, I saw him.

Oscar.

We came face-to-face in the hallway, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly between us, the world around us fading as the air between us thickened with unspoken words.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a thousand-ton brick.

The silence felt suffocating, every second of it making me feel smaller, more exposed, more vulnerable.

I could barely breathe.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hesitant, as if testing the air.

"Y/n, I want to talk about earlier. Please."

I couldn’t even look at him. His words felt like a distant echo, like something I couldn’t quite reach.

The sting of everything he’d said to me earlier, the doubt, the mistrust, burned too fiercely in my chest for me to react calmly.

I shook my head, my throat tight as I tried to hold it together.

My voice came out barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

“What’s there to talk about? You don’t believe me. You don’t trust me.”

Oscar’s face softened, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name, but it didn’t matter.

The pain in my heart was louder than anything he could say. He stepped closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance between us.

His voice was pleading, desperate for me to listen.

“That’s not true. I said those things out of anger, out of frustration. Lando’s words... they got to me. But I swear, I don’t think you’re using me. I—”

I cut him off, my voice breaking with the weight of my emotions. I couldn’t let him spin it.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head furiously.

You’re just like everyone else. You heard one thing, and you turned your back on me.”

His steps faltered, and for a moment, I saw something like regret flash in his eyes.

But it didn’t change anything. Not anymore.

The damage had been done, and I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

“Y/n, please,” he said softly, reaching out, his hand hovering near my arm.

“I didn’t mean it.”

But his words felt hollow now.

I didn’t want to hear him apologize. Not when everything I had worked so hard to build between us seemed to have shattered in an instant.

I felt the tears welling up, burning my eyes, threatening to spill over.

My chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of everything I had been trying to keep buried.

“You did,” I whispered through the tears. “You believed it. And now I can’t trust you either.”

Oscar’s hand dropped as if the weight of my words had physically knocked it from him.

The space between us seemed to stretch, a chasm that no words could bridge.

His eyes flickered with something like frustration, but I couldn’t find the energy to care.

“You’re always so defensive, always so closed off,” he said, his voice sharper now, tinged with anger.

“It’s exhausting. I can’t keep up with this anymore.”

I felt the sharp sting of his words, but there was something else beneath it.

Something that twisted in my chest.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t want to,” I choked out, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Maybe you just don’t want to understand.”

Oscar’s eyes turned cold, and his voice rose, filled with a rawness I wasn’t prepared for.

“You think you’re so much better than everyone, don’t you? You act like you don’t care, but deep down, you’re just scared. Scared that you’re not good enough. You’re scared of getting hurt, so you push everyone away. And it’s pathetic.”

I froze.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my breath caught in my throat.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

I was frozen in place, each syllable echoing through my mind, digging into the parts of me I tried so desperately to keep hidden.

The parts I had tried to lock away from everyone, including myself.

And now, here he was, exposing them in the worst way possible.

I trusted him, but he used my trust in him against me.

My worst fears, my deepest insecurities, laid bare before me in the cruelest possible light.

I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t. But the tears came, hot and fast, and I couldn’t stop them.

I had built so many walls around myself, so many layers to protect the fragile parts inside, and now they felt like they were crumbling away with each word Oscar spoke.

Oscar’s expression faltered as soon as he realized what he had just said.

His eyes widened in horror like he couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. This wasn't him.

He reached out to me, but the instinct to pull away was stronger than anything I had ever felt.

My body jerked back, my anger and hurt boiling over in that single moment.

“No,” I spat, my voice venomous and raw. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand dropped like a stone, and I saw the regret washing over his face, but it didn’t matter.

Not now.

Not after everything.

It seemed like he was regretting everything the minute he realized he was losing me.

But the damage was already done, and there was no taking it back.

I turned away from him, the weight of everything crashing down on me as I walked away, the tears falling freely now.

My heart felt like it had been torn in half.

I didn’t look back, because I knew if I did, I’d crumble.

The pain was too much.

I was almost out of the hallway when I heard his footsteps behind me.

He was following me.

“Y/n, please,” Oscar called again, his voice breaking through the distance between us.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, just let me explain.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t listen to him anymore.

I had trusted him and believed that he saw me for who I was, and now… now he had shattered everything.

My heart felt raw, bleeding from the wounds he had inflicted.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him.

“You want to apologize now?” I asked, my voice trembling with the pain I could no longer hide.

“It’s too late, Oscar. You’ve already made your choice. You’ve already believed the worst about me.”

Oscar stepped closer, his face full of regret. “Y/n, I—”

“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head, my heart breaking in two.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trusting people who turn on me the second something goes wrong. I’ve had enough.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

The silence stretched between us, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. But it didn’t matter.

The damage was already done, and I couldn’t forgive him, not now.

Not after everything.

With a final, bitter glance, I turned away and walked off, the tears still falling as I left him standing there, his apology hanging in the air between us, unanswered and unaccepted.

But one thing was for sure: I had to put myself first.

The end

[trrenchertrash]

The initial tag is mine. The issue is that episode 7 is not about Ekko “learning to trust” an “ideal version of Powder.” It’s about Ekko being reminded who she is. It’s about him realizing that Jinx is still the girl he loves/trusts/remembers from when they were kids. That’s why we’re seeing him bond with AU Powder and that’s why we don’t need to see him do it again with Jinx, because the point is that she’s the same person.

You’re right that it doesn’t develop Jinx, but again, it’s not supposed to. Episode 7 is about Ekko and the way he sees/feels about Jinx. Jinx has been developed all season long and doesn’t need that time the way that Ekko, who has been missing for an entire arc, needs it.

The biggest problem with this argument is that the show does in fact give us everything we need to know about Jinx and what gives her the hope she needs to move on. She tells Vi, “there’s no good version of me,” and then Ekko shows up and tells her, in not so many words, yes there is and I met her. Vi tells Jinx “maybe we can rewrite your story” without understanding that it’s too late for Jinx to go back. Her only way out is to move forward by leaving her past behind, which is exactly what Ekko and Powder talk about in e7 and what Ekko passes along to Jinx in that key moment. He says it’s never too late to build something new, and that he learned that from “someone worth building it for.” Then we see Jinx look at the Z Drive and see her little signature monkeys in there and THAT’S when she changes her mind. We’re supposed to understand that she understands what Ekko is saying to her here and that the reason she finds the strength to move forward is because Ekko is presenting her with proof that what she said to Vi isn’t true. She was wrong about herself, and that’s what changes her mind. We don’t need to see them talk it out in detail and honestly I’m glad we don’t because in this case I think less is more. I can’t imagine anything they could’ve written into Ekko’s mouth that would’ve been more powerful than what we got and I don’t see how anything more they could’ve written wouldn’t have come across fanfictiony and cheap.

It’s one thing to say you wish we got to see more or that you would’ve liked to see more, it’s another thing to criticize the show because it didn’t cater specifically to your desires. There’s no flaw in the storytelling here.

S2 skipping over Jinx and Ekko bonding, rallying zaunites together, and both realizing they can built a new future, motivating them to fight for Zaun is the equivalent of taking s1 ep9 or arcane, keeping it the exact same, except the dinner party scene happens off-screen and we just cut to Jinx blowing up the council.

[marstonsboy]

had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

[dekariosclan]

Thoughts on Gale being a healthy girl dad? Like how he's a healthy mama's boy. How he'd raise his daughter with Tav

Anon, you just gave me the perfect springboard to promote some superb creators in the Galemancer community 💜

But—before that! Per your request: My thoughts / HCs on Dad!Gale are actually very very simple: Gale doesn’t do anything in half-measures. During the game he’s clear that he’s not sure if he wants to be a father; so, if he were to change his mind after the epilogue, it would be after he had given parenthood much thought and done plenty of research. And I believe that, if he and Tav decided to go for it, he would do so with complete abandon, and give his whole heart to his child just like he does with Tav. In doing so, I think he’d be an enthusiastic and patient parent to either a girl or a boy.

For a little girl I think he would be sweet, loving, supportive, just a smidge overprotective, and completely wrapped around her little finger. while Tara would be a full-time adoring nanny/attack Tressym who would absolutely knock the shit out of anyone who made Little Miss Dekarios cry

But the best part is you don’t have to just take my word for it! There are many amazing creators who have shared their fantastic Dad!Gale artwork and fics with the community.

So, Anon and other Dad!Gale fans out there, this list is for you:

Artwork:

@dewdlepies has this adorable lil family for Gale.

@birdsagainsthumanity shows off their Gale & Durge’s smol, cute bebe.

@tee-dohrnii captured this picture-perfect family photo.

@orangekittyenergy made this absolutely heartwarming art of Gale and baby. Featuring Gale wearing his exquisite purple jams!

Fics/HC lists:

@emmy-dekarios-bg3 has written an EPIC Dad!Gale story about an infant daughter who cannot age, and the joys and struggles that go along with that. ‘But wait,’ you say, ‘what if I want to read about Gale having ANOTHER daughter who CAN age?’ Have I got news for you!

@shenanigans-and-imagines wrote a huge amazing list of HCs about Gale being a dad of not one, but two daughters.

@drizztdohurtin wrote this massive, astonishingly detailed, incredible HC list that covers *everything* leading up to Gale becoming a father.

@ohwolfling Wrote a very cute lil Dad!Gale daydream (HCs) post. She also has a TON of very well-written Gale meta on her blog!

@galebrainrot2024 wrote this absolutely sweet fic in which Gale and your daughter bake you a cake!

——————

Finally, you all know the drill—if I missed anyone, or if you have Dad!Gale art/stories of your own you’d like to promote, feel free to add ‘em in the comments!

[thatfrailsoul]

– The journey of a soul

new year tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

pictures from pinterest → one, two, three

Sometimes we crave that something… We feel the need to create, to speak, to make our steps in a certain way. With more intention, more meaning, more magic in it. Something that can give to all of this, to every single little detail and moment in our routines, more significance. And by doing so, give our own selves more motivation, strength, courage and energy to keep on going. Feeling that it is not at all useless. Feeling that there is something more in this life than just the material, at times repetitive or stagnant world. But even when we have so much desire for it… It is still not so easy to understand which is that one way to do things that can really help us see and feel again this world from the perspective of our soul, and not our consumed and tired thoughts. What we can do to connect, nourish and embrace ourselves. Through the expression of our soul.

This is our very first reading for this new year, requested by one of you to whom I’m so grateful for this idea and chance to tap for a moment in the more spiritual aspect of our life. No matter if you already have someone or something that you believe in, accepting their guidance in your life; if you always felt connected so deeply only to your own self; if you never felt this desire to look at life differently until this point… You are welcomed here, and there will be the right message for you. As no matter if we look at it from the spiritual and religious perspective, or more logical and psychological one, there is still something that can help you express, nourish and celebrate yourself more. Something that can help you find more peace within this year, transforming it into the strength to go through this life and the easy or challenging moments it sometimes gifts.

So slow down. Breathe. Allow yourself to let go for a moment of judgment, analysis or control. And just follow that one pile that attracts your gaze more. The one that is hiding the message from your soul.

P.s. A little question for you.♡

As I’m trying to improve the experience of the extended versions of our readings, it would be deeply helpful for me to know your opinion about their format! For example, when and if you’ll ever buy an extended version of a reading, what would be more comfortable for you to find in them? Just the additional message? Or it might be helpful to have the original one included too, so you have everything in one place in case you want to read again the whole reading, or check more than one pile?

{ Thank you so much for letting me know!♡ }

– Pile One,

the coffin: the king of wands and the temperance

This past year… There were so many things that you were forced to say goodbye to. People, connections, ideas and opportunities, journeys and goals… So many things didn't work, for one reason or another. So many of them needed a different approach, much more than you expected or could do. So many of them seemed to not want you at all, pushing you back no matter how many times you tried to make them work.

But even if it was frustrating and scary, you adapted to all the failures and changes. You tried to remain on the surface in any way you could, looking for something else, accepting whatever alternative seemed good enough for you. And even though you did your best, you managed to make things work either way, accepting them and being grateful even though they are not exactly like you wanted or imagined… It still remains a reality that is not quite yours. Just the one you surrendered to and embraced in the absence of other things that you truly wanted to live and achieve. And in the long run… It is tiring you. To need to keep up with a life that you don't feel truly fitting for yourself, your desires or goals. Because no matter how many positive aspects you can find in them, no matter how strong and capable you are, to make use of them and endure them... It still remains a heavy phase of life, the one that you are going through.

If we’d to ask ourselves what are the things in our life that we don't want or don't feel quite right… We would think almost immediately and only about the big ones. Work, home, studies, relationships that we can’t really control… But there is much more between these big and main goals or concerns that consume all of our focus. There are those little actions and decisions that we do each day, in our routine that we are not really even aware of anymore, allowing it to guide us blindly through one day and the one after that. And there are a lot of aspects of them that we let pass by, without looking at what they are made of. And how many things of those are really aligned with who we want to be or how we want to live this life.

It is normal that we can’t just stand up and change everything in our life, there are too many things that depend not only on us. But we don't need to change those in order to be able to feel safe and at peace, finally enjoying this life. We can and should do it in the little steps we take each day that we wake up.

So take a moment, sit down with yourself, grab a pen, a phone, your pc or whatever you feel more comfortable in using to organise your thoughts. And ask yourself, truly, who is that person that you feel to be in your mind and heart, in your inner world, and that each year you try so hard to bring into the real one. Look at them, describe them, so you can see yourself clearly. Not the version that was made by this reality, these circumstances that decided who and how you needed to be in order to survive and make it through. But the one that you are truly, without any if or but. Without any limit or consequence. Without any judgment or image to keep up with. See them, every detail about how they feel, towards others or just in their own skin. How they deal with obstacles or troubles. What helps them to unwind and relax. The things that they do and really feel satisfied after, proud of what they did no matter if it was a lot or little… And just keep them in mind. Make that version of you be your guide and idol, the one you look up to throughout this year. Each day of it. Because it is not just a dream or a delusion, your desire to be one day like that version that you have in your mind. It is actually your inner self that wants to be this way, and knows deep down that it is possible to feel so confident and safe. Because it's not that you are not like you want, and so is your life, while this is just a delusion that helps you sleep at night. It is still and always you, even if it is only in your dreams and goals for now. Both versions are you, just one needs some time and nourishment to grow up to be the other one.

Even if it might seem not so spiritual, to change your routine, to make room for the things that for so long you wanted to do but never had the time or space, or to just let yourself throw away the judgment and limits on what you do or how… It is still a spiritual, magical, practice. A practical way of taking care of yourself through the things that you can control, choose and decide. It is still a way of expressing and connecting to your own self. While simultaneously making little but significant changes in your life, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable not only within your mind or heart, but also in the things of the every day life.

And this, this can really make an incredible impact on the things that you can’t control too. Just because the wait will be more enjoyable, once you are staying in a place where not everything is frustrating and pressuring. Once you don't feel caught up between two things that give you only anxiety and unsatisfaction, but there is still something that is worth it, to go through these days one after another, while waiting for the big changes to begin.

This reality is hardly the one that you chose for yourself, but through little changes you can make it be more like what you want. So there is more of good and worthy, of safe and enjoyable, that keeps your attention better than the stagnant or bad ones, alleviating the pressure those have on your shoulders, on your heart and on your mind.

The spirituality is not only about practices, rituals, of following the guidance and “rules” of who and what you believe in… It is also and always taking care of yourself, in whatever way you need or can now. And in this year, in the one that once again you have so much hope for, the most needed and easiest for you way to nourish yourself is by making your current reality more safe and enjoyable for you, no matter if the other “big” things will change or stay the same. Because we can’t always control our journey, but we can change the way we go through it. And in your case, you can start doing it through the little things done for yourself, for that version of you that you want so much to manifest.

{ ♡ }

– Pile Two,

the cross: the lovers and the ten of swords

It is not the first time that this desire blooms within you. The one to be devoted to something close and true to your soul. To allow it to guide you, teach you. To allow it to protect you and take care of you as you go through these difficult days. It is not the first time you feel the pure and genuine desire to not feel so alone, so doomed, so lost. But to have someone or something to look after you, to light the right journey for you…

You already tried so many things. Opened up your mind and your heart to new ideas and beliefs. You held them close to your heart, let it in, right into your soul, and listened patiently, waiting for an answer, for a sign that this is something that is right and true for you, something that you can trust to guide you…

But although so many of them felt so exciting and interesting to learn about, there was always that one little detail that never fitted, never was quite right for you. Making it so difficult to stick with them, to truly dedicate your time and energy to them. To truly feel that faith that is needed in order to believe… The first moments of enthusiasm always faded. The new routines that seemed so easy to respect became more tedious and difficult to keep up with. The words that first resonated so strongly with your heart… Always sooner or later found their nemesis in your thoughts, in your fearful and anxious questions that never found answers that could satisfy them.

And you felt only more coldness around and within you. As this flame of connecting with your soul somehow, more significantly, in a more sacred way, didn't receive its nourishment. Becoming smaller with each day that you wanted to understand yourself and this world better, but were unable to crack the code…

But no matter how many things you tried, how much you learned about so many ways of creating through your soul or manifest your true self unapologetically into this world… It is still the very start for you. You are only at the beginning of this journey. As through your hard work you learned all the possible ways, methods, practices and ideas… But you never learned what, or who, is it that you want to connect to. You never took a moment to just look at your own self and what you hold within your body, mind and heart. There are many religions, many practices, many believes that could fit in your life, that could really help you. But it is difficult to find out which is the right one, when you don't really know the size you need, right?

Although it is admirable your openness and desire to learn and experiment… There is no need for you now to decide already who or what to follow. Because first you need to be able to listen to your own self, without any voice or interpretations of others in between. You need to focus on yourself, this year, on who you are, before trusting others and their truths. As they can so easily make you lose sight of who you are, when you don’t have what to hold to in the first place.

For now observe yourself. Your feelings, thoughts, perceptions and reactions when interacting with this world. Observe them also when you are all alone. When there is no one else apart your self… What do you feel, what do you desire or need, when facing all of it? Because you really do think that it is not needed, that there is noone that knows you best. But in this search for someone else that can translate the way your soul talks, someone who understands it… You didn’t notice how much you have changed. How much the motives and explanations of what you feel or think have changed, narrating a different story about who you are, and what your soul strives for now.

{ ♡ }

– Pile Three,

The child: the two of wands and the five of cups

So many plans, so many guidelines, so many routines… Always so many things to learn and to adapt to, so many limits needed for you so you wouldn't make mistakes… They really got you used to it. To have a clear vision of what you are going to do, or how, with all the needed steps to follow. They got you used so much to it, that you can’t help but do it regarding your own self, your own soul too. The way you express it, create with it… The things that you do to connect with it.

You can’t help but to rely on something or someone, just even the tiniest advice or guidance, before you do that one first step on the path that you are thinking to choose. But it doesn't really work with more intimate, less material things, doesn't it? It only kind of kills the enthusiasm and lightness in your heart by putting so many dos and don’ts into your mind.

There is nothing wrong in looking out for it… In looking around you, discovering different ideas and ways others do it. But it does become more heavy and strict when instead of being inspired and experimenting in your own way with it, you are trying to follow each someone's step, just to be sure to not be disrespectful, ignorant, or just weird.

Interests that help your mind to grow or hobbies that allow your heart to express itself and unwind… Routines that give you stability or practices that give you confidence… They all change so much, depending on who is doing them. For someone they are natural and easy. For others they are so difficult to stick with no matter how much one tries. And yet you still feel uneasy, you still believe that the reason you can’t find that one right thing, create that one safe space for yourself… Is you and the mistakes that, you are so sure of, you make.

And what if it is true anyway? What if you really do manage in doing only one thing and not the other? What if only one half of someone’s truth sits right with you? It is your life. Your soul. And it is obvious that it won’t be so easy to follow the example of someone else when trying to take care of it.

You tried so many things, explored so many different ideas and believes. And while you see yourself being able to welcome them in your life only partially as your incapability or inadequacy… You shouldn't ignore so confidently all those little things and details that still did resonate with you, even if each one of them comes from different cultures or practices. Your soul is the fusion of all your lives, your experiences, thoughts and feelings in each one of them. And the way it feels more safe to look at this world, and respect and nourish the one within you… Can indeed be a puzzle of all the different things that you learned or saw, but that fit so well together when you are that one connecting point.

Don’t busy yourself with finding, choosing and sticking to only one thing or way to take care of yourself, only one set of rules, only one school of thoughts. Because even though it might be the only one for someone, their whole life and armor, their story or personality, it doesn't necessarily need to be yours too. It can be strong, stable and beautiful enough even if it is made from different materials. A spirituality and magic that is all yours. The one that connects you to so many different parts of this world and to those that live or that used to, leaving to us their example and story to learn from.

Just go for your own way. Keep on remaining open, so enthusiastic and curious. Keep on learning and trying new and different ways, discovering how many things there truly are in this world that can be helpful and good for your body, mind or heart. Keep on enjoying them, or contrary, learning what are those things that are not quite aligned with you. And create as you go this beautiful and unique puzzle of wholeness and wellbeing, of a truth and guidance that is just yours, while still being connected to all.

{ ♡ }

[daughterearth]

Okay, I don't like to enter discourse and a pick rage bait but I cannot see this as a black and white discourse as a south asian woman. @organic-homegrown-boyfriend exactly let's see how far the rot goes - where is the line of people like us and not us is!!

A few things -

1. "Terrorist land" - Op knows nothing about geopolitical differences between south asian countries and their history. Indian and Pakistani culture, Middle eastern culture are entirely different branches. We are not abrahamic religion followers, we are not a branch of that culture. And indian export of terrorism is fucking nowhere. So stop grouping everything together. These are not coherent arguments. Because brown people's land =\= terrorist land.

Let me tell you about terrorism and land - The same land the European lady screamed about was the land her ancestors pillaged and ransacked and destroyed and earned enough to live this life free from coloniser's guilt. Who answers for the ecology, the resources, the people for creating these countries that they now can be fortified in from all the poverty and disasters Asia and Africa face that women have been pushed under into more physical and sexual abuse.

2. The same "European" roots she claims - have historically raped and killed and abused children and women in other countries. Even the countries where you consider "white" - the indigenous population and land has been decimated. You did what you could with your religion, your weapons, your illness, your frequent abuse over centuries - what you now claim as your lands. I assure you - "Europeans" they are not better people, they are not simply more "civilised" they simply did everything that you can to wash your hands off in lands that were far off. The illness that killed millions, the famines that put thousands to death were all European fucking exports.

3. "Refugees" - again, broad fucking generalisation because the regions these European countries destabilised with their army and money now can create a problem!!!

But, Let me get this straight -

1. Indian refugees - even if you want to look there - have been more in middle East than the European countries.

2. Maximum indian migration has been to the USA where they form the highest educated and well paid sector of the migrants incoming!

4. "Ugly" / Toxic culture - when radfems/aligned/leaning of colour complain of racism - this is exactly the point we put forward.

The coloniser's white washing/ the burning of our literature/ the killing of our stories/ the reframing of our beauty - will never be "white/homogenous" so it is ugly.

See racism is not a separate apartheid situation in this world currently - it's little prejudices that you insinuate = when we talk about racism this is what we talk about.

One - Every South Asian woman, every woman who has an experience has the right to say what it was - in its entire truth, barring no detail. It's a prerequisite for any conversation. And it is fully welcome and accepted.

But these blanket statements and then saying that women too can go back to their toxic culture is what is frankly revolting. We can pick sides but you have to see that so many European people were complicit in what has happened and continues to happen around the world. If we club everyone together - you also don't get to brush everything off from how the empire is built to what it costs!

Our cultural heritage is not sanitised and we don't pretend it is. We are not reaching for superiority over cultures or religions but it seems like this downputting has no end. Especially for Hindus and Indians. We have roots of every kind of evil but you pretending that yours is more different, more tamed, or much better or not evil all together - is just not seeing how you have been complicit in making all these evils true in other lands.

When we talk about feminism and sisterhood in real life which is not black and white- I implore you to see how to say and what you mean and what historical context it has and what it means to the person it is targeted towards with some clarity of concept and ground reality of the real world.

A friend of mine who moved to Europe screamed on a Pakistani man's face in her uni to go back to his terrorist land. And i loveee her for that. Europe needs to deport all the south asian men back to their countries I AM SERIOUS. South Asian women literally move to western countries to flee their patriarchal cultures just to find the same cultural oppression brought upon by these ugly incels from India and Pakistan. I don’t care if these men are refugees or came for a better lifestyle, they need to go back. I also don’t care if they are some woman’s hUsbAnds or family if those women care too much about these males they can go back as well since they love their toxic culture way too much apparently.

[candyheartedchy]

A deep analysis on SpongeBob and his struggle with fitting in because I think about this detail of the little sponge more than I should.

Let first start off with this little snippet from the pitch bible.

“He wants to fit in, but like a square peg in a round hole, he can’t.”

The rest in under the cut because this ended up being a bit long.

Throughout the series, especially in the earlier seasons, SpongeBob is always going out of his way to make himself appear either “cool” or “mature”. Heck the whole premise of the first movie is focused on his desire to prove himself that he’s not a “kid”. In both the episodes “Ripped Pants” and “MuscleBob BuffPants” he desperately tries to fit in. So much so that the attention he gets from ripping his pants and wearing the Anchor Arms quickly gets to his head, going to the point where he pretends to drown just to make folks laugh. And in both episodes, he starts to slip, realizing that he can’t keep these acts up for too long. Worried of losing his audience.

But he’s determined. He wants people to like him, and with Sandy just recently befriending him around the timeline of these two episodes, he wants to look cool to her. With Patrick being his friend since childhood, and mostly likely the only friend he had befriended before Sandy showed up, he didn’t want to take any chances to miss the opportunity to make another friend. Ironically Larry is in both episodes as well, who SpongeBob becomes jealous of due to the lobster’s own popularity and just being everything he isn’t. Same with the “Spongeguard on Duty” episode where he gets mistaken for a lifeguard by Larry and goes along with the act because it gives him attention.

Another incident that relates to SpongeBob’s struggle with his self image is the “Blackened Sponge” episode. It starts off of him having a dream where he’s rescuing someone, dreaming of being seen as this big, buff hero. After waking up from the dream, he accidentally gives himself a black eye and vows not to tell anyone how it happened to avoid being made fun of. He then goes on, almost bragging about the injury to a crowd, about his fake fight just so he can appear cool. But once Squidward comments about not caring about this, SpongeBob gets PISSED.

Self image is EXTREMELY important to him. He will do anything to avoid being ridiculed by others. He will not allow himself to be laughed at. No matter what.

Many times it shows that SpongeBob doesn’t handle public ridicule very well. Most of the time he seems either oblivious when folks (mostly Squidward) are insulting him or he just waves it off by misinterpreting it as something else. As of he’s pretending he doesn’t notice to avoid being reminded at how he’s really seen by people.

Countless times in the series, he’s shown to have a perfectionist attitude about how he does things. He has to do everything correctly or else.

Even with his own cousin, he gets frustrated from taking all the blame for Stanley’s mistakes to the point he ends up snapping.

This also is what causes him to fight with Patrick a lot. Because of SpongeBob’s obsession with being perfect, he clashes with his best friend’s laidback attitude on life. And yet there’ a kinship between the pair. He knows that Patrick can be affected by people comments just as much as he does, because they are both outcasts.

Which comes to SpongeBob’s struggle with loneliness.

In the episode “Gone”, we see SpongeBob waking up one day to find himself all alone in Bikini Bottom. He starts taking on the forms of his friends to live out all their lives while also getting attached to a boat for company. I believe he was experiencing his worst fear here. Being abandon. Which he already experienced this twice with his own pet snail, Gary, heartbrokenly trying to find him or watch as his snail grew attached to Patrick for a bit in another episode. He’s scared of being replaced or left alone.

This replacement issue comes up multiple times that tends to connects to what he’s good at. His job. The whole thing that kickstarts the first movie is the fact that Squidward gets the manager job. He also becomes so distraught when the original fry cook, Jim, shows up, causing SpongeBob to think he’s was getting replaced. He hates the idea of someone being better than him. Not out of pride, but out of fear. Especially at things he’s good at. Because if he’s not the best, what is he good for then?

He hates being seen as a joke. Constantly correcting folks whenever they try to belittle him.

He’s known as being optimistically annoying by folks, but that’s because he has to. It’s his way of coping. Even the first movie shows him crying and even getting “drunk” to distract himself from the reality that he will always be seen as a joke. He wants people to like him so BADLY because he knows he’s different. He knows that even when he’s genuinely being himself, others will criticize and judge him no matter what.

He wants to fit in, but deep down he knows he can’t.

[glitter-covered-bodybag]

I don't think we talk about how awful the Dubai penthouse really is. I mean look at the dining room.

HUGE table that encourages distance (especially as there's only 2 of them living here). When it's only Louis with his little bowls of blood he's gonna sit there alone with the heaps of space available at this table and no one else sat at it and be reminded that he really is alone. The bland walls with only a painting or two. The crisp and cleaners of everything. No warmth.

Then there's Louis's (supposedly) relaxation room with Armand's magnolia tree and Armand's library. A library that book-obsessed Louis cannot access. He's wholly dependent on Armand to retrieve things from it. "Please daddy Armand, may I have a book?" 😒 We literally see this when Louis asks to see the removed pages. Those belonged to Claudia, Louis's companion/sister/daughter. Why should that be something he has to ask for? Bare, grey walls like concrete. Like a prison. White stones in the zen garden the same as those Louis was buried in.

Then the bedroom. LOOK AT THIS BED. ITS MADE OF ROCKS. You CANNOT convince me this is comfortable to sleep in. The width of it meaning Louis and Armand can sleep entirely separately. The coffins, padded as they were look so much more comfortable and we know Louis likes laying in his coffin more than a bed from when he was recovering from the full body burns and asked to be put in his coffin even though the room was sun-proof and he would have been safe on the bed. Then the bars surrounding the bedroom. He's sleeping in a cell. (I've seen other people point out the similarity between the bars over the arches and the turning of Louis which is a detail I LOVE for reasons unrelated to this post. Here's a visual)

Everything is controlled through Armand's iPad. Armand controls the lighting. Armand controls the window shades. It just shows this unequal dynamic between Louis and Armand. "Armand protects my happiness"?? No, Armand is the one with the power here. You're his pet. You're his ward. Armand is an owner, a parent, almost a jailer (I'm not saying Louis can't leave or Armand is Evil, at all, just that the power dynamic is heavily tipped towards Armand as he tries to prevent a repeat of San Francisco. I wholeheartedly think he's just so overprotective that it tips into unhealthy territory). Louis doesn't do anything for himself. This is not how romantic relationships work. This is the first clue that their relationship is not what it seems, the first sign that Armand is trying to keep control of the narrative.

There is not one thing that shows me that Louis enjoys his space. Nothing to show it's lived in. It's cold and plain and boring. Compare to Daniel's apartment, a man who has had a long successful career and also lives alone.

Warm. A little messy. Lived in. An apartment of Daniel's size is hardly cheap either. But you can feel that Daniel's space is Daniel's space. The Dubai penthouse has no identity. I know this is just a modern, high-value aesthetic but there are so many other 'rich person' aesthetics that could be adopted that would be comfortable. Even keeping the clean lines. Look at these...

Still clean, still modern but warm. Everything about the penthouse is depressing to me.

[lonesilverw0lf]

Chess student: The cult has become locked itself in this building, we need to clear them out.

Football student: We know where they are, so let’s just bum rush them and take ‘em out.

CS: Don’t be rash. We have to do this methodically so we ensure they’re gone for good.

FS: We have them cornered, just get in there and get it done.

CS: We don’t know how many of them are left, what kind of traps they have, escape routes, or what. We can’t take any chances that they’ve set a trap themselves or that they can escape.

FS: They just got in there after two days of running. They’ve been caught with their pants down! We need to bust down the walls before they have a chance to rest and regroup!

CS: Or walk right into a trap? This is the real deal, we can’t make any half baked decisions.

FS: You’re not the active type, even back in school. You don’t have any idea on what actually goes down in the split seconds, nor any say on what it takes. You’ll let a perfectly good opportunity waltz by as you try to come up with some half clever scheme!

CS: You’ve never thought ahead once in your life. You always rush headlong into things and end up in a bigger mess than what was originally there. Or even create a mess because you didn’t know left from right!

FS: At least I choose to do something instead of sit back like a coward!

CS: I’ve seen better intelligence in a monkey than anything you try to pull!

???: Guys!

FS and CS: WHAT?!

Art Student: You two need to find something to make up, your arguments almost broke my concentration several times. Guh. My farsighted isn’t great, but I did manage to get as much information on the inside as I could. *hands over a stack of papers with sketches of the building and the insides*

CS: That’s great! The more intelligence we have the better we can plan ahead.

FS: Just point out where the boss man is so I can get in there and knock his head in.

AS: At least tell me you can tell what it’s supposed to be? I’m an abstract expressionist not a realist.

FS: Looks clear enough for me.

CS, flipping through the drawings: Ok, so a dozen and so cultists, a couple of horses, a loft, I guess that’s a weapons rack, so far so expected. Hey, what’s the story with this one?

AS: Which one? Sorry my headache hasn’t given me my sight yet so everything’s kinda blurry still.

CS: The one guy with more details than the rest.

AS: Dunno yet. I can only draw what I see using my Sight. I don’t know what it is I’m looking at until I see what I drew.

FS: That sounds stupid.

AS: They say that it’ll get better with time. Right now I’m too low level for that. Huh, that one guy is a lot more detailed than the rest. Weird.

CS: I didn’t get all the details on your Ability. Why is this so important?

AS: My mentor said something about things that I’m more familiar with tend to come out clearer. People I know, places I frequent, they stick out a lot more. Even if the place has changed significantly like a fire or battle happened, or if a person is wearing a disguise or something.

FS: So who would be so familiar to you in this random group of cultists?

Realization dawns on the assembled trio.

FS: Ok CS, your plan is good. We surround the building and- huh?

AS: I just blinked. Where did CS go?

CS, punching a hole into the wall of the building like the Kool Aid man: YIPPE KAI YAY MOTHER FUCKERS!! WHERE YOU AT BLORBO?!

MC, who infiltrated the Cult to feed the local militia information: How the hell do you guys keep finding me?!

The standard 'entire class gets isekai'd to a fantasy world and the outcast MC is basically discarded' anime setting, where the MC, now assumed dead, decides to instead help the class of Heroes in the shadows, making sure they live up to what the people need.

However, the entire class knows that he's alive and are hellbent on dragging that son of a bitch back into the spotlight and to give him the recognition he deserves.

(And maybe because he was basically the entire class's Little Guy™.)

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone and welcome to another wip wednesday ❤️ I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and I am tagging:

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @dirty-bosmer @captain-of-silvenar @lucien-lachance @pocket-vvardvark @theoneandonlysemla

@firefly-factory @ladytanithia @sulphuricgrin @changelingsandothernonsense @umbracirrus @moriche

@hircines-hunter @scholarlyhermit

So I have been encouraged by some lovely friends (you know who you are ❤️) to explore a Modern AU Theomar as spies. Have no idea if this will end up on ao3 as life is in a strange place right now but I've been playing around with how to incorporate events of Skyrim into a modern context. But this snippet is mostly them flirting at the bar 😛 Under the cut because suggestive a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up whore ass behaviour

“Can I get a between the sheets, with Colovian brandy if you have it?” 

“I’m afraid we’ve only got Cyrodiliic brandy and Geef.” They have Geef but not Colovian? Puzzled as to how the brandy from Morrowind is more common here, she orders the closest of the two.

“I’ll take the Cyrodilic.” As her suspicions were correct, the bar is almost empty save for a figure on the other end, it takes no time for her drink to appear. “Thank you.” 

The citrus of the orange liquor is delicious and burn from the brandy is familiar, thoughts of having five or six more tempt her; nursing a hangover at work was not the worst. That too was familiar, once she had even given a briefing to the Director after an attempt to empty the city’s sujamma supply. Wretched headache but she was good at her job. If not for the fact there was a meeting scheduled for first thing in the morning tomorrow, a meeting to establish the collaboration with those Altmeri Dominion diplomats, Theodora would have thrown her uncharacteristic caution to the wind. But tomorrow required everyone to be at their most professional to be thrown into the den of vipers, as her colleague Dram put it. Dramatic as always. Yet, she harboured a few concerns of her own. An odd way to describe them as even she knew they were not here in the spirit of diplomacy, that was evident based on her prior interactions with the Thalmor in Cyrodiil. Sarce they were, but it was obvious they had a need to put their golden hands over everything. The war hadn’t stopped, it just became hidden. 

As she finishes the drink, the last of the liquid is not yet swallowed when another is brought to her. 

“From the elf over there.” Too focused on drinking and thoughts of work, the agent forgot such a basic skill in her line of work: observation. Bringing the figure from her periphery to the centre of her vision, her concerns about the Altmer she’ll meet tomorrow are exchanged with intrigue at the one looking at her. Looking at his strong jawline and thinking about how satisfying it would be to grip his black tie, it doesn’t matter that he has a buzzcut. Different in very many ways he was. Offering him a smile and downing the drink, she approaches the stool beside him, sitting as she starts the conversation. 

“What are you drinking?” It’s almost unfortunate how handsome he is, now close enough to see the details on his face. Only somewhat knowledgeable on guessing a mer’s age, she can tell his over one hundred but beyond that she’s uncertain. Not that it matters. The slight chuckle he does is attractive, as is his voice. 

“Supposedly a Fine Elven Wine.” Very fitting she thinks. “Yet it is neither fine nor a wine, certainly not Elven.” Taking the glass from his hands, swirling it for a moment before she sips. Gagging at the taste. The mer laughs harder now. 

“Gods, that is disgusting. Here, let me get you something better.” Once again flagging down the bartender, she orders him a Collequiva, a fancy imperial wine. Watching as he has a taste, it seems it is satisfactory. 

“Hmm, better than I expected. Thank you…” Ah names, might be good to do that now.

“Theodora” she says. 

“Ondolemar.” 

Introductions out of the way, names all that needed to be exchanged; personal details kept under wraps due both to the secrecy of her work and her desire for privacy. Any other information he would need could be figured out after. In the event she found herself in his lap she could let him know what treatment she expects; deciding to start leading them there, she asks him a question. 

“Do you often buy human women drinks from across the bar?” His people in particular frowned upon such relations, would be good to gauge where his thoughts on the matter lied. 

“Would you believe I do not?”

“I would actually.” Why did he then… 

“You look too exquisite to sit alone at the bar, I have a feeling that this was not part of your original evening plans.” A bit taken aback but such a compliment as she was used to very different words from men, but the rest of his response is curious. It was a leap in logic to assume that off of what she is wearing alone, but it was correct. How did he know that?

“And what would you know of my plans? Maybe I wanted to get dressed up just to sit at the Winking Skeevar?” He dryly chuckles, drinking more of her recommendation. 

“Well then. I would say there are better bars to do that at. This one leaves much to be desired.” 

“Then why are you here?” She says. 

“My residence is nearby, it is convenient.” A reasonable enough answer, she had done many things because it was convenient at the time, many men fell into this category. Not the best but around. Good enough for the job that was pleasing her. Perhaps her eyes should not have lingered on his forearms, the neatly rolled fabric that was tight around the middle of them. Not lingering now, they trail up and over his torso as she imagines ripping the white button up off, let the buttons scatter and litter the floor. 

Returning to his initial comment on her appearance, she questions the word he used. 

“So I look exquisite?” A straightforward start, she’s curious where he’ll go with it. 

“You do, that is a lovely dress.” A straightforward answer, safe. It’s too safe so she amps things up a bit with a little test to figure out what kind of guy he is. 

“Hmm, well I’ve been told before by men that it does not leave much to the imagination.” 

“Then they do not have a very good imagination, now do they?” Another sip, more than a sip, a full mouthful and then he continues. “A simple man imagines merely the body, they neglect to think all which you can do with it.” Her widened eyes have him mistaken that he overstepped in his words, something which could not be further from the truth as she is imagining all the things she’d like to do with him. “I may have already had too much to drink.” 

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, Ondolemar.” Her hand reaches for his tie, tracing her hands along the complex knot securing it and enjoying the fact that although he is smirking, how he tenses does not go unnoticed. “I like a man who is forward.”